


In the North No One Can Hear You Laugh

by gardakuka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Minor Character Death, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Weird Northern Gods, Zero Warnings Given, lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29684805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: After her third unsuccessful wedding, Sansa learns something new about herself. And about her husband. And about those weird things the Old Gods have something to do with. Now she needs to make a very important decision.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 42
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was initially planned as a oneshot. However, it ended up being too long for a oneshot, so I'm splitting it into chapters.  
> I wrote this story when my mind was not in the best condition and it shows. It is ~95% complete at my end ('cause small changes might occur while I'll be posting it).  
> Even after finishing it, I still cannot explain what the fcuk is this.

Sansa stares at the heavy wooden door. She was told her husband is there, and it’s her duty to open the door and at least take a look at him. He is her husband, she is his wife. They had said their vows in the sept in front of the Seven and their guests. She should open the door and take a final look at him, but Sansa just stares at the heavy wooden door. She isn’t sure if it is an oak or a pine. Probably an oak, she hasn’t seen too many pines in the Vale.

The door creaks and a serving wench rushes out, she quickly looks at Sansa and averts her eyes. This girl probably thinks that Sansa is deep in her grief. She lost her husband, after all. Right after they said their vows in the sept in front of the Seven and their guests.

Alright, Harry died a little bit later. They were in the middle of their wedding feast when Harry said he was feeling unwell. Sansa didn’t pay too much attention to his words, she wasn’t paying too much attention to anything apart from her thoughts about the upcoming marital duty. She didn’t want to share her bed with Harry, but she had to. Her marriage had to be consummated, she was revealed as  _ Sansa Stark _ right in the middle of their wedding ceremony, making everyone gasp in shock. Petyr knew very well how to make an impression on the crowd. She was revealed as Sansa Stark, and now it was her duty to consummate her marriage to the heir of her cousin. So they could use the men of the Vale to take her home back. Sansa was more than sure the price didn’t match the outcome at all. Still, she had to obey. She was the last living Stark, Petyr told her, it was her duty to take Winterfell back. By losing her maidenhead and becoming Harrold Hardyng’s wife, of course.

Well, she didn’t have any other choice, and that’s why she was silent during her wedding feast. She didn’t hear Harry’s words about his well being, she didn’t care. But then her husband excused himself and went outside to take a breath, and half an hour later a screaming maid appeared in the huge doors of the Hall where the feast was taking place. The said maid looked so scared and so shocked, and she said that Harrold Hardyng was dead.

Maester said he literally choked on his meal. Everyone was screaming and crying and offering Sansa their condolences, and Sansa knew it had to be Petyr’s doings. She was more than sure it was him, her new husband’s death looked suspiciously similar to the one Joffrey faced a while ago. But when she finally managed to face Petyr, he looked way more shocked than that poor maid.

“It can’t be real,” he hissed in disappointment and smashed his fist down on the table where he locked himself and Sansa. Everyone was too busy with crying and gossiping to pay any attention to their disappearance. “Everything was going so smoothly, we had to be able to put our plan into motion the day after tomorrow.”

Petyr was clenching his fists and sweating, Sansa saw that he was too nervous for a person who had just killed another pawn of his hilarious game of cyvasse. She thought of Petyr and his actions right after Joffrey was killed and decided that he had nothing to do with Harry’s unfortunate passing. 

Ser Harrold Hardyng, the Young Falcon and Heir of the Vale. Dead after eating too many pork chops during his wedding feast.

Petyr was devastated and sent her away. She wanted to check how her poor cousin was doing, but she was chased away by some fussy maids who were left with Sweetrobin at the request of the maester. Sansa wanted to return to her rooms but somehow ended up next to the heavy wooden door which was separating her from her husband. If it was proper to call him her  _ husband _ at all.

Sansa sighs and touches the door handle. She has no idea which material it was made from, but it feels really cold. She should probably wear her gloves before trying to open it. She scowls and releases her hold. She doesn’t want to see Harry’s body, so she turns around and slowly walks to her bedroom. Sansa lowers her gaze and everyone she meets offers her their condolences. She has no idea why did everyone decide that she had any feelings for Harrold Hardyng, but she accepts their condolences anyway.

She knows that Petyr is right, Harry’s death brought a very serious obstacle into their plan, and she wants to get a chance to win Winterfell back. She is concerned about it, but at the same time, she feels that there’s a very weird happiness sitting somewhere deep in her chest. At least Harry’s death means that she is free. After all, Petyr had managed to annul her marriage to Tyrion before her wedding day.

***

It is decided that Harrold Hardyng would be buried in the Eyrie. Sweetrobin doesn’t look very happy about this prospect, but nobody listens to him.

“He was Robert’s cousin and heir,” Petyr says with a deep frown. “It would be fair to allow him to rest in the Eyrie forever.”

  
Lord Nestor Royce agrees, and so does Lady Anya. Everyone else says that Petyr is right and Lord Robert’s heir should be honoured even after his death. Sweetrobin kicks the table leg in disappointment but says nothing. Harry’s funerals are said to be held in two days, and Sansa wishes she could fall asleep and wake up right before them. She’s tired of all those fake condolences, everyone uses them to be able to talk to her. Everyone wants to talk to  _ Sansa Stark _ , after all. And everyone tries to convince her to join their families in marriage. Fine, not everyone, but Sansa is sure she had enough of those propositions. She is a widow in grief, for Maiden’s sake!

Sansa tries to disappear behind her bedroom’s door, but Petyr appears as if out of nowhere and says they need to talk. Urgently.

“Sansa, dear, I’m sorry,” he says with a sigh. His facial expression screams anything but  _ sorry _ . “I know that this unfortunate death of poor Harrold made a huge impact on your well-being, but we need to proceed with your wedding.”

“Harrold is  _ dead _ ,” Sansa reminds him in a cold voice. “He  _ died _ just a couple of hours ago.”

It was Petyr’s idea to hold the wedding and the first half of the day. Petyr Baelish was a despicable man, but even he had to wait at least until the next day to start planning his next moves.

“I never thought you had any tender feelings for that poor young man,” he says with a smirk. “Was I wrong?”

“I never had any feelings for Harrold,” Sansa says with a polite smile. “But I was ready to join him in our marriage. After all, it was your idea,  _ father _ .”

“Stop it, Sansa,” Petyr’s smirk fades, he looks like he swallowed a whole lemon. “I know you never loved him, and I know how much you like to follow the rules. But we don’t have time for any of those  _ rules _ .”

He walks to her while he speaks, and now he stands too close to her. Sansa doesn’t like it at all, but she needs to play along. She folds her arms and raises her eyebrows.

“Is it something to do with Winterfell?” she asks.

“Exactly,” Petyr nods. “I haven’t received any ravens from the north for a while, which means that things there are still the same. And that we have to act quickly before the news of your miraculous return could reach Winterfell. Or King’s Landing.”

Sansa thinks of Cersei and her appetite for revenge and nods.

“Do you have a new plan?” she asks and Petyr nods. Too quickly for Sansa’s liking.

“As I said, we will stick with tying you to the Vale through your marriage,” he says and strokes his small beard.

“To Sweetrobin, then,” Sansa sighs and lowers her gaze. She likes her cousin, she cannot lie. She likes to take care of him, to imagine that he is one of her lost brothers. She enjoys helping him to learn new things, and she sings him some silly songs before he falls asleep. But she can’t see herself becoming his wife, not at all.

“Little Lord Robert is still too young to get married,” Petyr laughs. “I will wed you instead.”

Sansa wishes she could return to the hall where the wedding feast was held and eat some pork chops which were left there. Maybe she could choke on them, too.

“You aren’t connected to Robert Arryn, the Vale won’t follow you to take Winterfell back” she tries to sound confident but her voice breaks in the middle of the sentence.

“Don’t worry, Sansa,” Petyr smiles, and it’s the first time his smile reaches his eyes, even if for a tiny moment. “I am Lord Protector, I will speak to our dearest Sweetrobin and convince him that our marriage was the most necessary thing. I’m more than sure he won’t object to my decision.”

It isn’t just Petyr who is too close to Sansa, but his breath as well. Sansa closes her eyes and feels his mouth touching the corner of her lips. She thinks about those unlucky pork chops once again.

“Don’t be afraid,” Petyr says into her lips and strokes her hand. “I won’t do anything  _ improper  _ before our wedding night, you have my promise.”

“And when our wedding night ought to be?” she asks as soon as she can’t feel his minty breath. She finally opens her eyes and stares into Petyr’s emotionless eyes.

“Tomorrow,” he says and strokes her hand once again.

Sansa cannot come up with any smart answer, so she simply nods. It’s the only thing she can do in those messed up circumstances.

***

Sweetrobin throws a tantrum and Sansa cannot disagree with him. She wants to throw a tantrum as well, but she needs to follow Petyr’s plan. She doesn’t have any other choice, apart from ending her life like one of the fair ladies from the song she used to like when she was younger. She could go and jump out the window, and whole Westeros will sing sad ballads about the Abandoned Wolf who had chosen death instead of an unwanted marriage.

  
Sansa doesn’t want to jump out the window, so she locks herself up in her bedroom. She needs to prepare herself for the upcoming wedding ceremony. And for the upcoming _marriage night_. She tries to picture it and has an urgent feeling to throw up. Sansa is more than sure she would throw up during the bedding because of that cloying smell of mint.

_ At least _ she has a night to brace herself. Petyr told her that their guests won’t be happy with that rushed marriage right after Harry’s death, so nobody is going to attend their ceremony. Sansa wants to laugh at the grotesqueness of the whole situation but realises she is too tired even for simple laughter. She climbs up on her bed and closes her eyes. She’s still wearing her wedding gown, she needs to undress herself and take a bath, but Sansa clicks her tongue. She is getting  _ married  _ tomorrow, why should she bother with taking off her wedding gown and putting her on once again?

She falls asleep quickly, and the last thing she remembers before succumbing to the darkness is the kiss she often dreams about.

***

It is a loud banging on her door that wakes her up. Sansa is a lady, but she curses quietly and gets out of her bed. She didn’t close the window shutters before falling asleep, and Sansa realises it’s still night time, most probably the hour of the wolf. She stretches out and walks to the door. She isn’t really surprised to find Petyr there. At least Sansa hopes he didn’t come here to swap their wedding and their bedding.

Petyr eyes her body, but there’s no lust in his eyes, he’s surprised that she’s still wearing her wedding gown.

“That would make things easier,” he says and his nasty smirk returns to his lips. “Put on your warm boots and follow me. We are getting wed.”

Sansa thinks Petyr went out of his mind. Or maybe he’s doing fine and it’s her who’s going mad. After all, she spent so much time pretending to be a completely different person. And before that, she had to withstand that madness of Joffrey’s court. It’s her who went out of their mind, Sansa knows it.

“You said our wedding will take place tomorrow,” she answers in a weak voice. She was sleeping, she didn’t have time to brace herself.

“Technically, it’s already  _ tomorrow _ ,” Petyr’s smirk fades. “I heard that some of the Lords are leaving tomorrow. We need to get wed and consummate our marriage before dawn. The septon is waiting for us.”

This is so wrong, but Sansa nods and walks back to her bed to pick up her boots.

“Put something warm on,” Petyr says. “It’s freezing cold tonight.”

Sansa wants to believe that he is caring for her, but she knows it’s a lie. He simply wants to wed and bed her, she can  _ smell _ it. She twists her lips and puts her boots on.

“Your wedding cloak is already in the sept,” Petyr says and touches his small beard once again. “As well as mine.”

Sansa knows he has nothing to do with the death of Harry, but Petyr sounds too joyful for a man who had just witnessed the passing of his bride’s newlywed husband. Sansa wants to punch him, there’s no reason behind it. Of course, Petyr deserved to be punched, he’s done so many crimes, but he is going to become her husband nevertheless. Sansa makes sure she is putting her boots on as slowly as it is possible.

***

The septon is yawning, but he mumbles all the words that are required from him. He’s the only person in the sept, apart from Sansa and Petyr, and Sansa feels like the figures of the Seven are judging her. She shakes her head and gazes into space. She wants to be lost in her thoughts, but she has no thoughts at all.

At least she is able to say everything that is required at her end. After all, she had said all those words less than a day ago.

Petyr looks pleased when he puts his cloak on her shoulders and kisses her. He tries to touch her lips with his tongue but septon clears his throat and Sansa’s  _ new husband _ retreats. Sansa wants to kiss that old man, but septon proclaims them to be man and wife, and she changes her mind. She wants to punch him as well.

Petyr grabs her hand and drags her outside as soon as the septon gives him a written acknowledgement of their marriage.

“We didn’t have any guests, so it looks like our bedding ceremony will happen a little bit differently,” he says with a chuckle. Sansa thinks she might throw up even before finding her way into their marriage bed.

She hates his cloak, but she folds it about herself. Petyr was right, the night is cold and the ground feels slippery. Sansa makes sure her steps are careful, at least she’s wearing the rights boots for this weather.

It’s too dark around them, and too quiet for Sansa’s liking. The wedding night should be accompanied by the drunk laughs and vulgar songs by the guests. Instead, she hears only their steps and the neigh of a stupid horse who can’t fall asleep in the stables. Petyr tightens his grip on her arm and Sansa can feel his minty breath on her lips once again.

“I hope you are eager for our wedding night, Sansa,” he says and his lips touch hers. Sansa makes an unintelligible sound. She wants to close her eyes and let Petyr do whatever he wishes, he’s her  _ husband  _ now, but then she hears the sound of approaching footsteps and turns her head. It’s too dark outside, with all the torches quenched to honour her late  _ second husband _ , there’s no way she could recognise the figure of a man who is coming in their direction.

It looks like Petyr isn’t amused with the fact he lost his chance to devour Sansa’s lips.

“I’ll beat the shit out of this sodding soldier,” he hisses and turns around, releasing his grip on Sansa’s arms. “He’d better have a good reason to approach us in the middle of the night.”

Petyr is the Lord Protector, he needs to be prepared to face everyone under his and Sweetrobin’s rule any time of the day. Sansa wants to snort, but she takes a careful step back instead.

Petyr rolls his eyes up and walks in the direction of the dark figure. He takes a step, and another one, and another one. Sansa watches him walking away, as well as watches his foot slipping on the icy ground. She watches him falling, too. Petyr had to think of wearing more proper boots for this weather, Sansa hopes that the loud sound when the back of his head met the cold ground wasn’t an indication of anything serious. It would be a shame if Petyr will have to spend several days bedridden instead of dealing with the Lords of the Vale.

But her newlywed husband doesn’t make a sound and Sansa frowns. The dark figure finally approaches them and stops right before Petyr.

  
“ _Shit_ ,” the figure says in a voice of Jon Snow. “Looks like he’s dead.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jon Snow clears his throat and looks at Petyr’s dead body, it looks like he is trying his best not to poke it with the tip of his boot. Jon looks at the body of her late _newly-newlywed_ husband and Sansa remembers that her half-brother needs to be dead as well.

Her dead half-brother squats down and examined Petyr’s body. He’s here to take him to the afterlife, Sansa is sure about it. She has no idea how Jon will take Petyr with him, they belong to different faiths, but she thinks she doesn’t mind. At least she won’t share her bed with Petyr, not tonight, not ever.

“He _is_ dead,” Jon Snow finally says and looks up at Sansa. “And it means we need to leave.”

“There’s no need for us to leave in a rush,” Sansa eyes Petyr’s body as well. “He simply decided to wear unsuitable boots.”

“I know,” Jon says and rubs the back of his neck. “But we need to leave anyway. Bran is waiting for us.”

Tyrion Lannister told her about the death of her younger brothers many moons ago. There’s no way Bran can be waiting for them unless Jon is taking _her_ to the afterlife.

“Bran?” Sansa frowns and tries to make sure her hands aren’t shaking. “I was told he’s dead.”

“Well, it was a lie,” Jon Snow grins and stands up. “Theon made a confession some time ago that he made up Bran’s death. And Rickon’s too.”

“And I was told you were killed,” Sansa doesn’t know if she can believe her half-brother. It is the hour of the wolf, even children know this is the time when the most strange things happen. 

“Well, it’s really complicated,” Jon sighs and rubs the back of his neck once again, as if he is embarrassed. “I mean, I was killed, but now I’m back.”

“It’s impossible,” Sansa presses her lips together. Even the Old Gods are helpless when someone dies. If they were able to bring dead people back, they would do it for their father first and foremost. Their father was putting all his faith in the Old Gods, there was no other man in the whole Westeros who admired and worshipped them as passionately as Eddard Stark did.

“I’m telling you, it’s complicated,” Jon sighs. “I promise, I will tell you everything when we will get to our camp. Bran is waiting for us there and he has a lot to tell you.”

“About what?” Sansa is still a little bit suspicious, but she makes a step forward and touches Jon’s bare palm. She can feel his pulse beating under her fingers and decides that Jon Snow is alive.

“He didn’t really tell me,” Jon shrugs. “He just said that we had to find you and deal with some things as soon as it was possible. We headed to the Vale as soon as everything was settled down in Winterfell.”

Sansa tries her best not to show her surprise, but in the end, she makes a loud gasp. It is a very unladylike thing to do and Sansa decides it’s her body that gasps. She is simply too shocked to do anything, she has no control over her body.

“Yes, we took Winterfell back,” Jon grins and squeezes her hand. “Little Rickon is there now, after all, there always should be Stark in Winterfell.”

“Does he have enough men to protect him?” Sansa suddenly feels very afraid for her youngest brother. 

“He has a lot of northerners who pledged their allegiances to the Starks,” Jon explains. “Don’t worry Sansa, they got rid of all the traitors.”

“That’s good to know,” Sansa nods. She really wants to return to Winterfell and hug little Rickon. And she feels an urge to leave the Gates of the Moon and hug Bran who is waiting for her. She thinks she should hug Jon, too, but she doesn’t really want to do it while standing next to Petyr’s dead body.

“And Stannis is staying in Winterfell for now anyway,” Jon says about it as if it is the most common thing ever. “So don’t worry, no one dares to touch Rickon.”

“Are you travelling with the men of Stannis as well?” Sansa asks, releasing her hand from Jon’s gentle grip. “Or you ended up with someone from the northern family to accompany you two?”

“Not really,” Jon grins once again. “It’s just me and Bran. We have enough supplies and a tent. And three horses, too.”

Sansa is still too shocked by all the sudden news, she has no control over her body. She simply watches her hand raising and smacking her half-brother.

“Don’t tell me you left Bran in the woods on his own,” her whisper sounds like a hiss and Sansa thinks she managed to learn something from Petyr, after all.

“He isn’t all alone there,” Jon touched the back of his head where Sansa’s hand struck him. “Ghost and Summer are travelling with us, they are better protection than any soldier. And Bran told me no one would harm him tonight.”

“Bran is just a _boy_ ,” Sansa shakes her head. She cannot believe that Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch acts like a little brat.

“He is, but he knows more than any of us,” Jon says with a strange warm smile. “But I think it would be proper for Bran to tell you everything. I might mess some things up, anyway.”

Sansa has no idea what he is talking about, but she nods. Maybe her half-brother who managed to return from the dead is right. He’s older than her, after all. She returns Jon’s smile and nods once again,

“We should leave, then,” she says and her voice isn’t shaking at all.

“We should,” Jon replies with a happy grin. He looks like a young man she remembers from Winterfell.

He still has that grin on his face when he finally pokes Petyr’s dead body with the tip of his boot.

  
“I have no idea why I did this, but somehow it feels right,” he says with an apologetic smile and Sansa thinks her late _third husband_ deserved that kind of a farewell. He was behind the death of her half-brother’s namesake, after all, he deserved that final kick from Jon Snow.

***

Two horses are waiting for them near the gates. Sansa asks Jon how he managed to get in, and he replies with a smirk that he simply bribed the gate wards.

“I gave them enough money to keep his mouth shut about a stranger who came here in the night. And who is going to leave with a young woman whose face will be covered by a shawl.”

“Which means they had no idea who you are,” Sansa says when they finally leave the Gates of the Moon. She takes a deep breath and feels a fresh and more than welcomed scent of freedom. She is running away with her brother, Sansa decides it won’t be fair to think about Jon with that nasty _half_ present even in her mind. She is going to meet her younger brother and tell him how much she missed him. She is free to do anything she wants, at least for now.

  
“But of course,” Jon laughs and spurs his horse. “Being Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch has its disadvantages when you need to be discreet. And being _presumably dead_ Lord Commander has even more disadvantages, trust me.”

Sansa has many questions for him, she has so many different questions but she decides to ask all of them later on. They need to get to Bran and their little camp first. Summer and Ghost might be fierce direwolves, but Sansa still isn’t sure it was a smart move to leave Bran on his own there. No matter how sure her little brother is about the whole idea of staying behind and waiting for Jon and Sansa somewhere in the woods. Especially when he has no opportunity to retreat in case of emergency. She wants to ask Jon about Bran’s well-being but presses her lips together instead. Maybe she isn’t the oldest one in their little company, but she is going to give both of them a good dressing-down upon right after their reunion.

***

When Sansa finally sees Bran, she loses all thoughts of scolding him for that reckless decision of his. Bran sits in the huge nest of furs in front of the tent and scratches his direwolf behind his ear, staring off into the distance. Summer yawns and pays no attention to the sound of approaching hooves. He looks too lazy for a protective animal, but Sansa just knows he doesn’t sense any danger. Ghost, however, springs to his feet and runs in the direction of Sansa and Jon. He wags his huge tale, he’s simply huge, and Sansa wonders if Lady was going to grow as big as her brother. She was the smallest direwolf of the litter, after all. Sansa thinks of Lady and doesn’t feel any pressure in her chest, just a sad but warm feeling.

Bran snaps out of his thoughts and turns his head, his eyes widen as soon as he sees her.

“Sansa!” he _screams_ quietly, and it takes a few seconds for her to dismount and run to her little brother. She falls on her knees somewhere in the middle of that nest of furs and cuddles Bran, kissing the crown of his head.

  
“You’re here,” she whispers and realises she is crying. Bran whimpers something in return and Sansa feels that he is latching onto her cloak. She is wearing that damned cloak with a direwolf on it, the one she wore twice during the past day, there’s no way she would leave the Gates of the Moon wearing _Petyr’s_ cloak. Summer gets up and sniffs her cloak with a low growl, Sansa has no idea if he likes it or not.

“It’s good to see the two of you reunited,” Jon Snow says with a smile. He tied their horses to a huge tree, where the third one was slowly chewing its hay, and sat down next to Sansa, observing her and Bran in their tight hug. Sansa nods and strokes her little brother’s hair. There is a fire lit in their little camp, but even in a half-light, Sansa notices that Bran’s hair colour turned darker. At least his curls are still the mess, and she tousles them even more.

“Good indeed,” she nods and finally releases Bran. He still latches onto her cloak but releases his grip as soon as he realises that Sansa moves away to give a hug to Jon. She feels his body tense a little bit, but then he returns her hug and pats her back awkwardly. Summer is still sniffing the hem of Sansa’s cloak.

“Are you hungry?” Bran asks her in that _quiet_ voice of his. Sansa knows they haven’t seen each other for a while, but she had no idea he managed to mature so quickly. She had no idea he could mature at all, she thought him to be dead. She thinks if it is something to do with what Jon told her about Bran knowing more than any of them.

“I’m fine,” Sansa replies and turns to pat Bran's hair again.

“Ghost brought us some rabbits,” Bran points in the direction of a tree where their horses are resting. “We could cook them in the morning and take them with us.”

“Ghost is a very smart wolf,” Sansa smiles and Ghost’s tail went mad in excitement. “And judging by the size of a pile, we will have enough food until we reach Winterfell.”

Just saying the name of their homes makes Sansa warm. She likes to say it out loud, she likes how it tastes on her tongue. It’s melting on it like a snowflake, it’s the most wonderful feeling ever.

“About that,” Jon sighs and moves away to scratch his direwolf. “We won’t be going there, Sansa.”

She frowns, but Jon gives her a quick apologetic look and winds his head in the direction of their younger brother.

“We will talk about it tomorrow,” Bran says and his direwolf yawns. The connection between them is way stronger than Sansa thought initially. “Now it’s time for us to have some rest.”

Sansa realises she cannot object to her brother. Maybe it has to do something with his serious expression, maybe she’s simply too tired after being wed two times in a row. And witnessing the deaths of her two respective husbands, too. She eyes the tent and wonders if there will be space for three of them.

***

Somehow they manage to get themselves comfortable. Jon falls asleep almost straight away, but Sansa can’t fall asleep. She lies next to Bran and he latches onto her cloak again. Sansa knows he tries to look serious and independent, but he missed her as much as she did. Maybe even more, after all, he never heard of Sansa being dead.

She asks him what Jon meant when mentioning that Bran wanted to speak to her as soon as it was possible, but Bran yawns and closes his eyes.

“We will talk about it tomorrow,” he whispers and nuzzles his nose into Sansa’s cloak. “It’s about your husband.”

He falls asleep quickly, and Sansa lies next to him and caresses his hair. She has no wish to talk about Tyrion, not at all.

When she falls asleep, she dreams of strong hands taking her into a hug. She dreams of them often before falling asleep, just like about the kiss, but this time the feeling is almost real. Sansa thinks she definitely needs to have some _normal_ sleep after a stressful day.


	3. Chapter 3

Bran looks like a ruffled raven in that nest of furs. Jon whispers that their little brother woke up at first light, and Bran yawns as if he was able to hear Jon’s words. Sansa is the last one to awake, but at least she feels refreshed. She needed a nice, long sleep in the arms of her brother after going through all that mess from the previous day.

Sansa tries to think of herself as a widow, but it doesn’t sound right. She tries to whisper that word and it tastes _wrong_ on her tongue. That knowledge makes her happy, and she thinks it was a smart move to steal a paper from Petyr’s pocket just before she and Jon Snow left the Gates of the Moon. The paper states she married Petyr willingly in front of the Seven and Sansa cannot wait to find a sept and make sure the fact she is free from any marriage now is going to be documented, too. She cannot wait to become truly free. Not that there was someone else she wanted to marry.

They eat a freshly cooked rabbit for their breakfast, and Summer nuzzles his young master’s hand, whining something in a pleading manner.

“He wants to go for a short run,” Bran says and scratches his direwolf behind his ear. “Together with Ghost.”

“Right,” Jon nods and makes himself comfortable. “We will proceed with our travels upon their return.”

“Where are we heading?” Sansa asks when both direwolves gracefully vanish in the brushwood.

“To be honest, I have no idea,” Jon shakes his head and looks at their younger brother. “But Bran does.”

“I have no idea as well,” Bran shrugs. “We will have to figure it out together.”

He frowns and stares at Sansa with so much intensity that she decides he really looks like a ruffled raven. She remembers his sleepy words about something to do with her husband and sighs. Nobody heard from Tyrion for many moons, there’s no way Bran would ask them to go and start searching for that missing husband of hers. Not a _husband_ anymore, she corrects herself. Petyr managed to do at least one good deed in his miserable life.

“Does it have something to do with the fact you came here to talk to me?” she asks Bran calmly. “Jon told me it was something _very_ important.”

Bran chews his lower lip and for a moment he looks like a little boy Sansa remembers from her childhood. A little boy who was climbing the walls and became so nervous when he heard their mother calling for him. She thinks of their mother and closes her eyes. She’s really glad she met both Bran and Jon, who rumoured to be dead, but their meeting brought back so many painful memories. Sansa wants them to disappear.

“It does,” Bran answers carefully. “But first, I need to tell you what had happened to me when we were separated.”

He looks so nervous as if he fears that Sansa would hate him for telling his story. He tries to look serious again, but he’s afraid like any other boy of his age would. Sansa smiles and takes Bran’s hand in hers.

“Go on,” she encourages him and caresses his hand. “I bet you had a very fascinating story to tell me.”

“To tell _us_ ,” Jon answers with his mouth full. He was attending to their horses earlier and didn’t finish his breakfast together with Sansa and Bran. “I still didn’t hear the _whole_ story.”

Bran closes his eyes for a second and nods.

“Well,” he says after a moment of silence. “The _whole_ story is that I am connected to the Old Gods.”

  
  


***

  
  


Bran tells them about the raven from his dreams. And about the time he spent with the Reeds. And about their travels beyond the Wall. And about Ser Brynden who taught him how to speak with the Old Gods through his dreams. Younger Sansa would think that having an undead Targaryen as a mentor is something hideous. Now, she simply nods at Bran’s explanations and tries to make sure she understands everything. She is kind of shocked by the whole story, but she tries her best to keep her face. Jon listens to their brother’s story with an unreadable expression. After all, he had already heard some parts of it before their reunion.

“The area beyond the Wall is full of mysteries,” he says when Bran mentions a faceless man who rides an elk. He sounds sad, though.

Sansa doesn’t interrupt her younger brother, but by the time he finishes his story, she has so many questions, it feels like her head is going to explode.

“So you can see the future in your dreams,” she finally says and suddenly all the pieces fall into place. “And you saw something about me, right?”

Bran scratches his head and sighs.

“Something like that,” he says and tries to fight his smile, as if the thought of his dream about Sansa makes him laugh. “Sometimes I see the future. Sometimes I see the past. Sometimes it is a very clear picture, but most of the time there are those visions I need to understand.”

“And what did you see about me?” Sansa says in anticipation. It had to be something about Tyrion, she hopes her brother’s vision wasn’t about their married life after the end of the war.

“It was about you and your husband,” Bran confirms her suspicion.

“Which one?” Jon says with a short laugh. “I don’t think Sansa had time to inform you, but she has _three_ of them now.”

“Three?” Bran’s eyes widen in shock. “But what has happened to all of them?”

“Let’s see,” Sansa sighs and starts to tick off her fingers. “Tyrion went missing after being accused in Joffrey’s death.”

“But this marriage has already been annulled, so we don’t need to worry about him,” Jon shrugs. Bran says nothing, he simply stares at Sansa as if she suddenly grew a second head.

“Then there was Harrold Hardyng,” Sansa says with a sight. Harry was a _moron_ but she decides she is a little bit sorry for his sudden death. “I married him yesterday at noon and then he choked on a pork chop during our wedding feast.”

“ _What_.”

“And then there was Petyr Baelish himself,” Sansa twists her lips. “He married me last night and broke his neck just right after the ceremony.”

“It was an accident,” Jon confirms with a nod. “He simply decided to wear unsuitable boots.”

“Those were my words,” Sansa makes a little chuckle. She knows it’s very improper to _chuckle_ while talking about the death of her _husband_ , but doesn’t care. It was Petyr, after all.

“ _Shit_ ,” Bran says quietly. Sansa urgently needs to know who taught her little brother how to swear, she wants to slap that person. Just as a precaution.

“What’s wrong?” Jon raises his eyebrows. “Well, apart from the fact that all Sansa’s husband vanished or died. Do you think she might be cursed, or something?”

Jon used to like the stories of brave and fair maidens as a little boy, Sansa remembers. He was a bastard and faced a harsher reality than any of Stark children, but he enjoyed those stories anyway. She is sure he came up with that stupid conclusion because he remembered one of those songs. Something about a fair lady who was cursed and only a kiss from her true love was able to break that curse. Sansa hopes she won’t be kissing Tyrion.

“She isn’t _cursed_ , that’s the thing,” Bran mumbles and wraps himself in the furs. “She is _protected_. By the Old Gods.”

“What do you mean?” now it’s Sansa’s turn to frown. She had no idea the Old Gods she fully accepted only after becoming Joffrey’s prisoner decided that she was worth their _protection_. It has to be a mistake, if the Old Gods were on her side she wouldn’t experience the torture and pain of being a member of the Royal court. And she wouldn’t be humiliated like she was. And she wouldn’t become a dumb pawn in Petyr’s game. And she wouldn’t lose her only protector, no matter how crude and angry he wanted to look in her eyes. She still thinks about him and his hands and his kiss before falling asleep, after all. Even after learning about his death. 

“Sansa,” Bran’s voice drags her out of her thoughts. He doesn’t look shocked anymore and his voice sounds much calmer than before. “You went to pray to the Old Gods while being in the Red Keep, right?”

“I did,” she nods. “There’s no weirwood tree, but I hoped the Old Gods would hear my prayers the same.”

“Looks like they did,” Jon shakes his head. “If Bran says that they are protecting you.”

“They did,” Bran confirms and laces his fingers. It’s a cold day but he isn’t wearing his gloves. “They heard your prayers and decided to give you their protection.”

Sansa still thinks that their father deserved that stupid protection way more than her, but she doesn’t reply anything and lets Bran continue.

“And what do you mean by it?” it’s Jon who breaks in.

“They gave Sansa a husband,” Bran says and his lips finally form a smile.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jon says. Sansa bites her lips and shakes her head. She doesn’t want to think that her marriage to Tyrion was made by the Old Gods. Tyrion isn’t a bad man, but there’s no way she wants to remarry him, even if it’s what the said Gods are going for.

Sansa wonders if there is a chance to confront Bran and his dreams and the Old Gods themselves. She doesn’t want to lose their protection if it’s there, but she wants to have a say in this messed situation.

“ _Oh_ indeed,” Bran replies to their brother, that strange smile is still on his face. “The Old Gods decided she deserved protection from a man who would be devoted to her until the end of their lives. And they gave Sansa a husband of their choice, which means this union is more complicated than the one formed during the wedding ceremony.”

“How do you know this?” now it’s Sansa’s time to raise her eyebrows. She wants to believe her little brother, but this story feels so unreal. The Old Gods, the heard prayers, the _husband_ , it sounds more like a stupid jape her brothers came up with to cheer her up. That stupid grin on Bran’s face doesn’t make things better.

“I saw some of the things in my dreams,” Bran shrugs. “And I heard some of the things from the three-eyed crow. Brynden.”

Somehow Sansa is sure that an undead Targaryen man doesn’t make a proper matchmaker, but she decides to give her brother a chance to continue. She needs to know everything, anyway.

“And does this… _union_ ,” her lips suddenly go dry and Sansa quickly licks them. “Does it have to do anything with the unsuccessful outcomes of my weddings?”

“Exactly,” Bran sighs and rubs his temple. “For the Old Gods, your union is a sacred thing. They are looking after you and your husband, and they cannot let anyone stand between you.”

“And that’s why they’re killing everyone who stands on their way,” Jon tries to make a joke, but Sansa can see that his eyes are serious. He is worried about her, and this knowledge makes her heart warm.

“It’s _complicated_ ,” Bran clicks his tongue and turns his head to face Sansa. “I suppose there’s more than one factor that influences what is happening with Sansa and her life. I think I might understand something after learning more about what was going on in the Red Keep. And then we will go and try to find your husband. Something must be done with this union, anyway.”

“Do you mean there’s a chance to _break_ it?” Sansa gasps. She was always told that the marriage vows were the most important thing in a person’s life. It didn’t explain the fact why so many people were seeking their pleasure on the side, though.

“There _might be_ a possibility to do so,” Bran shrugs. “I’m not sure about it, but we can try.”

  
“Right,” Jon strikes his hands together and gets on his feet with a sigh. “So, now we will have to go and find Tyrion Lannister, who wasn’t seen in Westeros for _moons_?”

“Here’s the problem,” Bran clears his throat. “The marriage between Tyrion and Sansa was as hollow in the eyes of the Old Gods as the rest of them. And I bet that Tyrion Lannister’s disappearance might have something to do with it.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa frowns.

“I had no idea you had  _ more  _ than three husbands,” Jon laughs and pats Sansa’s shoulder.

“I don’t have  _ more  _ than three husbands,” Sansa tries to argue, but Bran clears his throat once again.

“In the eyes of the Old Gods you have only  _ one  _ husband,” he says quietly. He tries to act seriously, but Sansa notices a mischievous sparkle in her little brother’s eyes. “The one who gave you his cloak and protection at the times you were pleading the Gods to save you.”

  
“ _ Shit _ ,” Sansa says quietly. She suddenly forgets all the other words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *doing my best Britney J. Spears impression*  
>  _the weather change is killing me_

Sansa’s head is full of questions, at first, she even thinks that Bran is playing a bad jape on her. When she realises there’s no way her younger brother could act like a total moron, she wants to rattle off all of them. But the direwolves are back and Bran says they need to move.

“We can’t be in this camp for too long,” he says with a shrug and Sansa understands there’s no way he would give her the answer to any of those pesky questions. “We need to move to the south.”

Sansa knows they were risking everything staying overnight too close to the Eyrie for her liking, but both her brothers assured her last night that there was no way for her to be afraid. They had two beasts with them, after all. She helps Jon to pack their things, and Jon keeps throwing curious glances at her. Sansa keeps her mouth shut, she would tell him everything, but only when Bran would be ready to speak to her about the whole twisted situation she was in now. According to her younger brother, she has already been in this mess for a long time.

She tries to think about her being  _ married  _ to Sandor Clegane, and it doesn’t make sense at all. The thought makes her palms sweat and her heart go wild, though, and Sansa decides it needs to be a good omen. She needs to get used to this thought, especially after Bran mentioned they were going to find her  _ husband _ . He sounds so confident in saying so, and it means that Sandor Clegane is alive. He  _ has  _ to be alive, he needs to learn about their marriage in the eyes of the Old Gods before even thinking of dying. Sansa puts away their bedrolls and bites her lower lip. She thinks of Sandor Clegane saying something about detesting any Gods and suddenly she isn’t sure what his reaction to the news could be. She hopes he will be glad, though. He desired her when they were stuck in the Red Keep, it  _ had _ to be a desire. The way he spoke about her body while being drunk, the glances he threw in her direction when he thought she didn’t notice, the fierceness he possessed while saving her from the revolting crowd.  _ The kiss _ he gave her before leaving the burning capitol.

He left her his cloak that night, and Sansa wonders if the Old Gods have to say something about it. She decides to ask Bran about it later on.

  
  


***

  
  


“So,” Jon says when all of them are finally seated around the little fire. “Who is that lucky man the Old Gods picked for you?”

Bran chuckles at his words, and Sansa rolls her eyes up. There’s no way she could smack her brother whom she finally met for the first time after considering him to be dead for so many moons.

“Sandor Clegane,” she says with a sigh. There’s no need to make a fuss and act as a shy young maiden who is so flattered and embarrassed while talking about her  _ husband _ . Sansa says his name and cannot really understand how it tastes on her tongue. But her heartbeat rises once again and she tries to hunt away her memories about his kiss and the dreams she saw while being trapped in the Vale. She knows that Bran cannot read minds, but she does her best to force those memories onto the back burner of her mind.

Jon frowns as if he tries to remember something, he glances at Bran who sits in front of him with the most unreadable expression. And then he turns pale with fright or any other similar emotion.

“Wait, are you talking about  _ that _ Clegane who raided Saltpans?” he asks carefully, his eyebrows still furrowed.

Sansa heard what had happened in Saltpans when she was in the Eyrie. She also heard that the Hound was blamed for committing the worst atrocities a human could even imagine. She always knew it wasn’t Sandor Clegane who was wearing the blasted helmet on that day. There was no way it could be Sandor Clegane, how could Jon even suggest something like that?

“It wasn’t him,” Bran suddenly speaks and Sansa breathes out. There’s no way Bran would lie about something like that. “I asked the Gods and they showed me it wasn’t him.”

“Alright,” Jon says in a puzzled tone, but Sansa notices that his shoulders aren’t tense anymore.

“What did you see?” Sansa asks too eagerly even for her liking. She tries to act like a proper lady, she doesn’t want to show her brothers that she is really worried about Sandor Clegane. She simply needs to know what had happened to him after he left her bedroom in the Red Keep.

“Not much,” Bran shrugs. He looks like a ruffled raven again, and Sansa wonders if it has to do anything with that weird experience he had behind the Wall. “But I saw him bedridden when Saltpans was on fire.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Sansa whispers so quietly she can’t even hear herself. Sandor Clegane was the strongest man she ever met, he managed to prevail against his brother. It is so strange to think about him being  _ bedridden _ .

“I also saw him with Arya,” Bran says and Sansa almost jerks her head up so abruptly she feels a nasty pain in her temples.

“Why didn’t you tell us about it earlier?” Jon looks just as surprised as Sansa is. “Does Clegane know where she could be?”

“I don’t think so,” Bran shakes his head. “They were travelling together before Arya disappeared. But he took care of her, even saved her from the unnecessary death.”

Sansa has no idea what would be proper to say right now, she is simply glad that Sandor Clegane took care of Arya, even though she detested him. Sansa used to hear a lot of her ramblings about him while both of them were in King’s Landing, calling him names and saying that people like him didn’t have the rights to exist. Arya wasn’t right, he was just serving the family who was controlling the lands he had a coincidence to be born on. Sansa tries to imagine Arya’s face when she would learn about the fact that the man she detested somehow managed to become Sansa’s husband without giving any vow. Sandor Clegane wasn’t fond of the vows, she suddenly remembers and giggles. Perhaps, the fact that he got married without saying any sacred word suits him well.

“That’s good to know,” Jon’s voice drags her out of her thoughts. “I wish we would be able to find Arya soon.”

His voice is full of sadness and Sansa reaches out to squeeze Jon’s hand. She has never been as close to Arya as Jon, but she misses their sister as much as him.

“She should be alive, and that’s the most important thing,” Bran says quietly. “I hope we are going to meet her one day.”

It looks like even with his powers and the Old Gods by his side, Bran still has no idea what had happened to Arya. Sansa gives him a reassuring smile, she hopes it doesn’t look weak.

“We will,” Jon sighs and turns to face Sansa. “Anyway, we have another important business now.”

He talks about Sandor Clegane, and Sansa feels her palms sweat once again, She is still squeezing Jon’s hand and he notices it as well.

Right, they need to find Sandor Clegane, tell him about his sudden marriage to her, and suddenly Sansa realises she has no idea what the next step is going to be. Their union has to be dissolved, and Bran mentioned earlier that there was a possibility to do so. It certainly means everyone expects them to clear the mess they somehow managed to get into, it would be the most natural thing to do. Sansa isn’t Alayne Stone anymore, she is Stark once again, and her brother is the Lord of Winterfell. She needs to marry someone else, and she needs to do it _properly_. She thinks about the possibility to marry Sandor Clegane properly and the images of her old dreams about her marriage bed pop up in her mind. Sansa hopes no one notices her blush.

“He gave me his cloak when I was desperately praying to the Old Gods to save me from Joffrey,” she suddenly says and closes her eyes, trying to revive the feeling of the coarse fabric of Sandor Clegane’s cloak on her naked body. “He stripped me off my clothes in front of the whole court and told his guards to beat me.”

She notices that Jon’s body has tensed once again. Bran clenched his fists.

“The Old Gods knew what they were doing,” he says in a quiet voice, and it sounds almost like a hiss.

“And then he offered to take me away during the battle,” Sansa sighs. She wishes she accepted his help, she would get a chance to see her sister. “But I was too afraid and too naive to go with him.”

“Maybe it was for the best,” Jon suddenly shrugs. “Who knows what could happen if you left King’s Landing with him.”

“The Old Gods,” Bran replies in the same quiet voice. “Looks like you two needed to be separated despite your union.”

“And he left me his cloak,” Sansa suddenly says. She decides not to mention the kiss. “For the second time, you know.”

Sansa’s throat suddenly goes dry. She thinks she knows what her brother is going to tell them.

“Does it mean he strengthened their union in the eyes of the Gods?” Jon frowns, his gaze shifting between her and Bran.

“I suppose so,” Bran nods with a heavy sigh. “Good thing he didn’t give Sansa any vows that night.”

Sandor Clegane gave her the vow on the night the Blackwater burnt, she suddenly remembers. Sansa makes a tiny squeak and lowers her eyes, taking a hard look at the blanket of snow.

“His only vow that night was about keeping me safe,” she whispers and Jon Snow makes a very surprising sound, somehow it gives her the courage to continue. “And he kissed me, too.”

“We need to find him as soon as we can,” now it’s Bran’s turn to squeak. “Because  _ that  _ really complicates things.”

Sansa has no certain idea what complications her brother talks about, she knows he would explain everything when the time comes. She is very curious, but she doesn’t want to rush things. Especially when the Old Gods are involved, who somehow managed to be way more powerful than Sansa ever imagined. Up to a faerie level, but she trusts Bran.

“Have the Old Gods told you by any chance where we should look for Clegane?” Jon asks and throws a glance at their direwolves. Sansa wonders if he wants to put them on Sandor’s scent, even though they don’t have any item which belonged to him.

“They showed me some hints,” Bran frowns. “Told that we should keep going further south. And there was a vision in my dream I wasn’t able to understand, to be honest. Something about the beautiful place between the earth and the other world. With a mummers’ stage in between.”

He sounds very serious and clueless at the same time, but it doesn’t stop Sansa from snorting.


End file.
